Forsaken
by NationalZombie
Summary: They shared an illicit friendship, entwined with mutual feelings of affection. The Lieutenant is trying to keep what remains of the violently ravaged team together, while also struggling with the turmoil of affection she shares with a particular Sergeant.
1. Exile

_Author's note: Hello! This is my first story uploaded here, I hope you enjoy it! Oh- and can anyone guess who the main characters are? I like challenging you. This is simply the prologue, so if you have no idea it's ok. All will be explained in good time, darlings. -NZ_

Though a path of descended foliage, dank and sodden, treads a lone silhouette. The sky beyond remains a fathomless cinereal, for the muted overcast has loitered all day. The dreary clouds etched into the afternoon ozone were biding their time, teeming with pre-downpour. This dark, morbid part of the town is secure from most eyes. Unstirred, a trail of solace from the hectic activity of the average human's life. Although the original was a path to a school deemed 'Wade Elementary', she has long left the trail to the school. Instead, she'd shrewdly veered to the left, down a little path around the school, which is rather large for a learning facility.

This back road led to a modest little playground. The youth of the school often played there in the afternoons. On a normal occasion she'd be ambling her way down the lithe crosscut, on a walk to that playground. _It might as well be a journey_, she decided one particular evening,_ this school is huge!_

Indeed, it took the girl nearly 30 minutes to hike around a meager half of the perimeter.

The child had wound her way around the building now. She'd walked the path numerous times before, sometimes even in her dreams. That, she decided, only testified to her obsession. Hunger for knowledge, her father sometimes called it. She called it having friends in all the right places. Despite the fact that there was only one.

He was her best friend. And he so often filled her with convivial feelings. Today, though, was different. She carried disheartening words, words of which her mother had said were of upmost importance.

He wasn't particularly reclusive, yet not extremely chatty. And that was one of the things she liked about him. Another perk was his sense of humor. She liked it when he laughed. He openly favored her over his companions on his side of the fence, though she was never able to understand why. He had many, many other children to play with, if he ever felt lonely. Yet he was always at the far end of the playground, near the fence.

There had always been a fence there. Confining the border of the playground. Chain-link, coated in a slim rubber (In truth, she had no idea what it was coating the fence. She just inferred it was rubber.) Whether it was to keep her out, or him inside, they'd never been able to establish. In the previous year, they'd begun wary conversation, which evolved into a close, bonding friendship.

She'd finally arrived at the fence's boundary, where through the chain-link she saw him. He was in his normal position, sitting on the ground and refusing to stand until she was in full sight.

And so once he'd arisen, she reluctantly began.

"We're not supposed to be friends, the two of us."

"No, we aren't." He'd known this all along.

"Then why are we?" The female youth allows the afflictive question into the air, a bitter feeling following her words.

"..I'm not sure." The boy responds after a lengthy silence.

She spins on her heels, the murky clay staining her shoes. Her mother would be very displeased to see this, as she was very intolerant of accompanying mud onto the pale carpet. The girl knew she'd get a punishment for forgetting to wipe her feet. She hastily decided she would remember.

It has just rained, and the vapory yet refreshing scent lingers in the atmosphere.

She likes the rain.

It makes her feel clean. Like all the bad has been washed away.

The boy is still watching, with an unwavering gaze, that of a bird of prey's. He has dark, oak brown hair, and burnished eyes to match. And his hands are squeezed into little fists. He's afraid of something - but whether it's admitting the inevitable, or trying to deny it - she cannot determine.

"Would you miss me if I went away?" She inquires, out of abrupt curiosity. Her back is still turned; with a little beige-colored french braid hiding the nape of her neck.

".. Maybe." And a voice within him uttered a strained, 'Always.'

"'Cuz, I'd miss you." She mumbled, examining the damp earth for anything unusual. She'd paid no mind to his reply, obviously. It made him wonder if she'd actually heard him or if she just didn't bother to respond.

For him, it was rather comforting to hear her say that. On his side of the fence, there wasn't much tenderness to go around. There was a chilly, flint-hearted atmosphere about it, one that even the naive girl was aware of.

"Thanks.." He allows a soft grin to come to his lips, but does little else other than gaze through the chain-link at her.

"My mother says I shouldn't come here." She sighs, reeling around to stare at the logo of the school, which proudly read 'Wade Elementary School.' No, she did not attend here. Mother had said the children here were hardly people at all. Even so, she felt a stronger attachment to this boy, only a year or so older than she. She was nine.

"She's wrong," He spewed posthaste, albeit he knew his friend's mother was right, "You've never gotten hurt here before!" Reasoning with her would prove a smooth task. It wasn't like she was any the wiser.. Suddenly an ache of guilt swiped at his stomach. He hadn't meant to think of her like that. In all faith, she'd remained a devoted, loyal ally.

"I know," She responds with little regard to his outburst. "But she said that I should stay away." Her eyes are averted, as if she is too deep in harrowing to stare him down.

The boy sighed. "I'll miss you..." He pauses. He knew it'd come to this.

_She did not belong in his world and he did not belong in her's._

The girl nods. Slowly, solemnly. And she sharply makes an about-face, and the boy sees she is forcing back tears.

He's never seen her cry before. In the ambience of the area, he wishes the fence would crumble away, fall and disintegrate into ashes. So that he could reach out and touch her, hug her, even hold her hand if she was upset enough.

And since the luxury of having that fence gone was impossible, he did the next best thing. He tottered over to the fence, and extended his arm to her.

She hesitated; her mother said that he was hardly a human at all, because of his 'abilities,' which she refused to tell.

But she cared not. After no more than a heartbeat, she'd clutched his hand with her own, leaving a quiet yet comforting slice of silence.

Then the bell rang.

It was a loud, rather unpleasant sound to the ears. It usually made him shiver and yank himself away, and begin a trudge back inside the school. She felt he was hiding something about it, he despised the very mention of it and refused to talk of it - claiming it was 'too boring for someone like her.'

She understood he must depart, although she secretly wanted him to stay and never leave her.

He did leave, with a forlorn, desire-filled glance cast over his shoulder. In the ten years of his life, this was the most painful thing he'd ever had to do.

Her best friend was gone within the duration of a minute. Once he was safely inside, she sank down to her knees, tarnishing the fabric with moist mud. With her petite hands, she gripped the fence. She felt memories, flooding back and overcoming her. And she wasn't sure exactly how long she remained there, surrounded and absorbed in her own thoughts, but she did remember that she picked herself up, began the journey home, and received a prompt scolding from her mother about her muck-stained pants. It'd even crossed her mind to wipe her feet before coming in.

Startlingly, it was around 7:36 when she returned. Her parents both gave her a lecture about coming home late and her mother shot her a wary glance. She knew very well where her daughter had been. And she never wanted her to return. The school only held children who were... Not like them. This was for her own good. With that final, unspoken warning, mother and father retreated to their room.

Hostility lingered in the room, even after mother left.

Once she'd pilfered a handful of chips from the pantry,(She'd been feeling a little peckish from the walk home) she ventured upstairs to her room. She'd quickly shoved them into her mouth in an aloof manner, a chewed loudly because her mother never liked it when she did. Mother wasn't here to scold her now and it gave her a little bit of paltry satisfaction.

She swallowed, the sloppily mashed chips scratching her throat. She'd scrambled over to the window, stood briefly on the windowsill, stretching her hand out to unlatch the locks. She leapt down, causing a small thump to break the solace. She shrugged it off, (yet hoped she didn't awaken her parents) and heaved the window up. There was still a screen there, blocking any attempts of fleeing the house via rooftop.

It wasn't like she wanted to take the screen off, anyway. She was well aware that if she stumbled, the plunge to the ground would break her neck. Besides, she was only nine, (and a half, which she'd ardently debated with Harold one afternoon) it wasn't like she was some sort of escape artist.

She allowed her thoughts to become a vagabond, aimlessly roaming through the recent events. She reclined her chin on the pearly ledge, reeling her stare along the vast dusk scenery. The sun had only small amounts of pure light shimmering through the treetops, while the rest of the sky dwindled outward into an auburn color, then farther into an abyssal indigo. Several specks of light were in that area. Stars. She read a book about them once. The trees swayed in a placid pattern, lurching slightly back and forth.

The serenity of the scene began lulling her into a blissful pre-sleep state, where the surroundings of Fairport were whitewashed.

Her mother worked at a place called 'Arm-can.' It had a logo with three big diamonds that were all connected and a circle in the middle of the largest diamond. She'd heard her mother say '_Working for the future and you' _was a 'dumb slogan' over the phone. She promptly received backlash from the person on the line, which was hidden from her daughter's alert ears. She appeared to have more knowledge of Wade Elementary than she chose to show, and it didn't take the intelligence of a brain surgeon to figure that out.

She hated how her mother described the children at the school. They weren't monsters. Harold was her nicest friend.

She was furious at her mother. Her mother was ignorant. There was nothing wrong with Harold.

Nothing at all.


	2. Fallacy

_Author's note: This took quite some time, and I apologize for that.. This is the last chapter where our protagonist and deutragonist are children; in the next chapter they will become adults. (Not to mention less naive and blind.) And action and blood-spewing epic shit ensures. Enjoy. -NZ_

There were monsters here.

Whether they simply dwelled in the kingdom of deception and shadows that was his inner thoughts, or if they were a frightful reality hidden from the rest of the world, Harold was still debating. He'd discovered them with his mind's eye. Snarling, screeching hideous creatures- abominations, one might say. Their skin was torn and spurting blood- accompanied by equally tattered and frayed bandages. These faded rags barely hindered the outbursts of warm, red liquid, and just thinking about it confused him. Why would you clothe hurt people with paper-thin rags, when medical attention was so clearly needed?

They snarled and oozed saliva and the white-coats poked at them, harassed them, and sometimes strapped them to big chairs. They must bleed a lot, he noted. They had a wild, animal-like glitter to their eyes, all usually bloodshot and frantic. Of course, that was for those who still possessed their eyes. Some were more unfortunate, with blank, empty sockets that sent a shiver down his spine. He could only perceive that their breath was rancid, foul, and distasteful - their teeth were in rather startling condition and the yellowing ivories reminded him of corroding elephant tusks.

They liked to bite. They secured a fair number of white-coat arms between those gamboge fangs. Naturally, those who managed to accomplish such a feat where often beaten until dried blood caked the walls of their crammed prisons. The wounded monsters often died the next nightfall.

He dreamed about them, usually when he was summoned up to the nurse's office. He wasn't fond of that place, mentioned scarcely yet more important than he'd ever know.

They were oddities, 'freaks of nature', as he'd heard his companion announce when he told her about them.

She was haughtily rambling on about how her mother taught her that phrase. But all at once she grew meek and docile when she remembered it had been used to describe the students. It failed to bother Harold; he was a sensible boy and understood why her parent abhorred him so.

He was different.

Despite the badgering, the immutable threat of being pried away from her friend by force, his little companion openly defied her parents. No matter how leering or hazardous the consequences, she'd continued to visit him.

He paused one afternoon to decide if she was either extremely brave, or extremely foolish. Brave, he finally concluded. Besides, he held a profound reverence for the gutsy kid. She was the kind of child who might stumble into trouble, punch it a few times, and then demand a refund. He could tell she was very attached to him, albeit the reason wasn't evident to his adolescent, child-like mind. Why her affections for him carried on so touchingly deep was a vast puzzle to him. Another thing that remained shrouded in mystery was her surname. Yes, she'd made it apparent on numerous occasions that her name was Keira, but oddly enough she'd never spoken of a surname.

Though one crisp autumn afternoon he'd trekked home from school (he allowed his backpack to plummet to the ground, he had homework to do - but it was math, and he was horrible at multiplication) and the television's light filtered through the room, the images flickered and revealed two young lovers in each other's amorous embrace. Their faces were inclined and their lips met and their hands clasped around one another. Harold stood, quizzically eyeing the scene.

"Ew." He finally mouthed, trotting on into the kitchen, but he continued to ponder the act.

He knew when a girl and a boy cared a lot about each other; they kissed like that and then got married.

Well, he cared about Keira very much. Did that mean he was_ supposed _to kiss her? He abruptly paused, awkwardly resting his palms on the kitchen table. He finally concluded there _must_ be a difference. Somehow.

He certainly disregarded the idea of _committing_ the rest of his life to her. She was simply his best friend, his (only) trusted ally. It'd be too absurd, marrying her.

They'd previously made plans for their futures, which Keira insisted they spend still as close confidants. Harold had always dreamed of joining the military, with her by his side. The same couldn't be said for Keira, but she defiantly didn't want to be left out of anything.

All that was now simply a fading memory. He understood it was all for her own good. Keira's mother immensely detested him, and had once confronted him, threatened him. 'Stay away from my daughter,' and she used an odd word to describe him. He attempted to remember what it had been, but all in vain. So he decided it would be best to vanquish it from his head.

Indoors, the school felt doleful and vacant of emotion.. Or maybe that was just the air conditioner turned up again. Fellow students had swarmed inside as well, and filtering through the disarray, Harold noticed a particular sandy-haired student in his class.

His name was Redd. Harold already had a preference of words to describe him: boastful, arrogant, adamant... Annoying. More the last one than the first three. He was clearly close to his older brother, with enduring tales of spectacular adventures. Some were quite interesting, like the one about snowboarding, where Spencer cracked his left femur. Then Redd had gotten his hat stolen - and then he slugged a high-schooler to get it back. Harold privately doubted if he had the guts to do that, though.

Yes, although badgering was one of Redd's vast, bothersome hobbies, Harold managed to find a friend in him.

Through his endeavors to slither between the crowds, he also caught sight of the enigma of a boy that was Michael. He seemed so silent, stony, and hostile on occasion. Harold knew next to nothing about him, despite the fact that he sat next to him in class. He rarely talked, and when he did, it was usually to ask for an extra pencil.

But sometimes, into the allotted time of recess, Harold had noticed Michael eyeing his charming friend with interest. Harold's protective nature was awakened that afternoon. He'd become wary of Michael. And he developed a nearly immoral fascination with shielding Keira from him.

Although he was distraught over losing his best friend, heartbroken and desperate for a glimpse of her face, (and perhaps a proper farewell) he would smirk to himself, knowing that if he couldn't have her, then neither could Michael.

Upon arriving to the classroom, which had been absorbed in a terse silence, Harold wound his way around to his assigned desk- where he promptly seated himself. The remainder of the children stumbled through the doorway as well, often clogging the entrance with their little bodies, pushing and shoving, wrestling to get inside first.

The teacher eased herself into the room, with students scurrying this way and that. She immediately demanded they all take their seats, in a rather irritable tone, which caused the children to scuttle for their chairs. Harold chuckled to himself, and inclined his neck so he might shoot a taunting glance at Redd, who'd been one of the unfortunate standing.

He was mildly surprised to see Michael already seated as he swiveled around. He was perplexed for a moment, debating on whether the frigid classmate had simply slipped by his notice, or if he was a psychic superhuman with teleporting powers. Yeah, he'd seen a TV show like that once.

Redd posthaste tried to spit at him, which failed because of the distance between the seats. Harold mocked him. Redd crumpled up a piece of paper to throw, but their blithe antics were cut short by the teacher. She sourly instructed Harold to turn around and gave Redd a bitter glare.

She, once dealing with the two, marched back up to the front. Standing with precise posture before the class, she straightened the glasses on her large, crooked nose. The lesson plans began spewing from her immediately, with her coarse voice rising slightly on parts she felt were important. They delved into subjects such as math, history, science, and literature... Of course, Harold vaguely listened - he was too distracted by the swollen, repugnant boil on her forehead. Keira was going to laugh her head off when she heard about this...

The realization that he would never speak with her was a sharpened sword. It wasn't fair. Keira was his unshared companion... Her parents failed to see, how she affected him. How she left him brimming with blissful adulation. If there was something askew with him, he couldn't identify it. Besides, it was Keira's decision, nobody else's.

As the lesson tarried forward, the teacher's raspy voice began echoing in his head and he truly attempted to listen, but nothing caught his interest. That is, until the door's handle clicked and a woman he'd never seen before slithered into the classroom. Her movements were swift and timorous, and he could notice a malevolent glimmer in her eyes as she stooped over to whisper something to the teacher.

As the words were exchanged, Harold could clearly see a change in the teacher's expression, a pleased but surprised look. Suddenly, she veered away from the newcomer woman, and directed a solitary long, bony finger at the cluster of students before her.

"Mr. Jankowski, Mr. Becket, and Mr. Keegan, you three are needed in the Nurse's office." She hissed, glaring at each in turn.

Harold felt a rush of disappointment as his name was one of the selected three, yet he reluctantly proceeded to the front. As Redd and Michael neared as well, he caught a glimpse of their expressions. While Redd appeared to be confused, his rebellious nature still simmered through. (Even Harold knew he had a serious problem with authority.) He looked as if he was about to blurt out something, which was probably rude. Michael, on the other hand, was pokerfaced, and Harold wondered if he felt anything at all.

"Hey- where are we goin'?" Redd inquired. "Is it another stupid checkup? Why are we goin' to the Nurse's office? Are we sick? I'm not sick! Are you going to give us medicine? I don't like grape flavored m-"

"Hush and follow Miss Clark," The teacher instructed, gritting her teeth.

Miss Clark? Harold frowned, the name sounded strangely familiar, despite the fact that he'd never seen this woman before in his life.

The lady gave the boys a smile and gestured towards the door. She began an eerie amble towards it, and motioned for the three to follow. Wearily, the boys exchanged glances before marching out. There was something odd about this woman... And it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure _that _out.

After the staggering trudge across the gargantuan school, the boys found relief when the Nurse's office came into view.

"I still don't think I'm sick," Redd protested as he walked alongside Harold, "If I were sick, I'd be vomiting and I'm not vomiting. ...Do you need to check?" He opened his mouth, uttering a quiet 'ahhhh', but Miss Clark didn't even acknowledge him. Clearly annoyed, Redd heartily began another ramble.

"Did I ever tell you how much I hate grape flavored medicine? It's so nasty, I can't even swallow it. Hey, once Mom made me take it when I felt bad, but I just made it look like I swallowed it, so when she left I spit it out. Have you ever had it? Doesn't taste nice, does it? Yeah, so don't even try to give it to me." Redd finished his rant proudly, despite the painfully obvious fact that nobody paid heed to him.

Miss Clark rolled her eyes. Mr. Jankowski was a stubborn, obnoxious child, but she knew how to deal with those types.

She paused at the door of the Nurse's Office, hastily pushing down the handle of the door and sliding it open.

Redd immediately leapt forward and nudged his way inside, scanning for anything intriguing.

Harold detested the eerie ambience surrounding the room; it kindled fear, unsettled him and left him aghast. As Miss Clark began herding them inside, he felt the almost overwhelming urge to flee the scene. He took one unsure stumble backwards, casting a distrusting look towards the lady. She failed to notice it, and was instead urging Michael inside.

He suddenly rethought the idea of running. If he did somehow manage to escape, who would he run to? Harold paused, contemplating the choice for a moment. He could go to Keira. Yes, she would understand. She always did.

But she was banished currently, in a place he dared not venture near. Despite begin dispersed, Harold often caught himself wondering where she was.

He should've fled.

The aberrant woman was leering over him. Words began crawling through her teeth so quickly that they were incoherent. Before he could react, she secured her coarse hands on his shoulders, and steadily hustled him inside the steely room. He was unconscious soon after, along with the others.

was promptly started. Underground labs were revealed, and scientists were scattered about.

And the tests on the psychic monsters began.


	3. Insinuation

_I'm afraid I will have to change the rating to M, for excessive gore, sex, and violence. This will come in the later chapters, now I'm simply building up to all those elements. I do apologize that this section has arrived late, and that is clear result of my procrastinating.. The chapters I believe will be coming more quickly and smoothly now. Here an antagonist is introduced, and so the plot begins taking shape__..._

Night overtakes the day, sun and moon thrust into a turbulent battle for dominance over the sky. The deities will continually trade places in this war waged, and thus, their 'battlefield' will adapt under influence.

Currently, the moon is winning.

Its light in a silvery pallor illustrates the ambience of the scene. The sky under siege paid its dues - It was no longer consisting of gorgeous daytime hues, but rather had darkened into a somber cerulean, tinted with airbrushed streaks of aubergine. In addition to the haunting surroundings, a city of shadows and deceit lays below a marvelous building.

A city soon to be plagued by the heinous rampage of Alma Wade. Of course, nobody knew this at the time. Yet, the mood of the town was slightly influenced by her in some way, despite her death years ago.

If you were to stand on the outskirts of the city, you'd witness the resident's houses pale in comparison to _one_ spectacular skyscraper. And if you lived within the bounds of Fairport, you'd know exactly what that skyscraper's name was.

The Valkyrie Tower. Perched atop this imperial citadel, lay a quiescent penthouse. Nearby, through a short maze of halls, was a pool of glimmering stagnant water. Yes, this lavish penthouse is home to only the most successful... It was quite prestigious and held high above. Rewarded to the woman who dominated the upper end of Armacham's hierarchy. Despite all the magnificent arrays, the brilliantly arranged displays of fine art, there lay something... Could it be described as evil? No, malice. The moon's illumination overcasts most man-made light fixtures. Even in the penthouse, nearly every light was subdued, save for the crimson numbers on a digital clock.

The backlit keys of a cell phone are suddenly added to the scene. Her expression is brimming with irritation. Yet she remains in calm composure as she has trained herself. Besides, it was that outlandish serenity that got her this far.

She carefully began dialing in the numbers, until her finger slipped and she mistakenly pressed a 6 instead of a 3. She tries again. Stop slipping. In wasn't terribly long before her finger met the 3, and the phone emitted a shrill ringing.

While awaiting her response - she's pacing the room, impatient as a hollow feline denied its prey. Her short, brown hair is damp. Whether its saturation is from water or oil is undetermined. Perhaps a sleek combination of the two. A neatly polished gold cross dangles from a chain secured around her neck. Her eyes penetrated the surroundings of the caliginous penthouse where she resided. No, there was nothing grotesque this night. Though she'd had quite enough dreadful, hellish nightmares about that girl. The one in the grimy red dress. Alma.

The phone in her hand is now clutched tightly, if it were a person's neck - the esophagus would've been well crushed by now, seeping the warm ruby liquid. The hard shell of the phone is the only thing that prevents it from becoming, well, a jumbled mess of sparking wires.

All at once, the ringing is dead and a man's voice echoes through the device.

"Aristide? What the hell do you want now?"

He received a prompt tirade from Aristide. He was forbidden to use that tone of voice in her presence.

Thus the conversing begins, the subject mainly revolving around that one Project he forgot the name of.

"You honestly believe this will work?"

"Are you doubting me?" She retorts with indignation, her voice curling through the receiver and into his ear.

"N- No ma'am," he is obsequious, as he remembers his job is of little importance to she.

"As expected." In his mind manifests the form of her snide grin, her eyes narrowed in the pleasure of power.

Aristide disregards this suspicion, insisting tirelessly that she is correct. She's quite good at 'persuading', too.

"..Harbinger, you call it?" His tongue works hastily, veering her attention to a new subject.

"Yes."

"And what of the failed specimen?" His inquiry is sharp, yet not barbed enough to appear hostile.

"They can easily be disposed of," The break between her words is terse, but what follows holds a malevolent note "...Or kept as reminders."

"Now," From his throat erupts a cough before continuation, "You say you have some sort of...? 'Team' for this project?" It's quite troublesome to talk, since just this weekend he banished a distressing flu from his system. He swivels 90 degrees to give his calendar a long stare. Today is Tuesday, and his throat is very dry. He wants water. But he can't. Awaiting her reply.

"Composed of only the most diligent and effective."

"And how, exactly, do you plan on getting these members?"

"There's a reason we had Wade Elementary, you know." Her remark rests in disturbing light, but he is determined to be silenced. For the sake of his job.

"Oh. I'm guessing that Becket is one of the unlucky." Becket. One of the few, promising specimen, one who was most often summoned to the Nurse's office. During his time with the others in that wretched place, he was noted to be less social and more.. Aggressive in behavior.

"Actually, he's the first. But... His potential is so... very odd. They've agreed to continue studying him until the time is right for him to be assigned."

"Any others?"

"I will be sending you list. I need you to assign them all to a solitary team."

An impotent route of response, but he subdued his disdain. Not tonight, not tonight. He was keeping his emotions collected well until

But receive the list he did. The names sprawled out over the screen of his phone read, 'Cedric Griffin, James Fox, Manuel Morales, Redd Jankowski, and Harold Keegan.'

"When does it need to be assembled?" A pause, laced by an arisen suspicion. This, however, slips beyond her notice.

"As soon as possible."

Immediately as those obdurate words sprang from her lips, her finger maneuvered to the red button that terminated the call.

_AN: This was a very short chapter__...__ It's actually more of a transition into the adulthoods of our leading duo. Also, thank you to anyone who reviewed, it is much appreciated!_

_-__ NZ_


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